


Fashion, Baby

by Krank



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Modeling, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1210273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krank/pseuds/Krank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall is a photographer who, after a chance encounter, falls in to an odd sort of love with international model Harry Styles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fashion, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> _Another prompt fill!_

It’s funny how some things just sort of _happen_. How the stars aline and the world tips in just the right direction to map a person’s destiny. Niall got to experience that brand of fate when he was a wide-eyed twenty-one year old, fresh out of college. One monumental internship ended up introducing him to the most important person he’d ever meet.

Niall had loved visual art ever since he could remember. It started with finger paints, and then he graduated to brushes when he was six. He spent all of his allowance on disposable cameras when he was ten, his family unable to afford a real one. His pictures were all quite shitty, but he kept them in a box under his bed, images of landscapes, sunsets and his stupid friends safely tucked away.

Then, when Niall was sixteen, he got a crap job as a bus boy at a restaurant down the street from his house, and proceeded to save all he could to buy himself a real, functioning camera. Even then it was just a simple point and shoot, with hardly any adjustable settings and a mediocre zoom. Still, it was his and he used it until it died.

Fast forward a couple of years and Niall was saying farewell to education and hello to the future, having spent three years working towards his BA, majoring in photography with a minor in filmmaking. It didn’t seem real, some days, that he was actually living out his dreams and not working at a service station back in Mullingar. It was honest work, but it wasn’t what Niall had wanted, and neither had his father. Thus, he had shipped out to London to pursue his favourite type of art.

And then, when he thought things couldn’t get any better, they did: Niall scored a paid internship with Burberry in their Creative Media Department. His first task: to film a behind-the-scenes video for the making of their fall look-book.

It was where he had met _him._

There were a plethora of male models in the business. There were the underwear models, who were sculpted by the hands of god himself with perfect muscle definition and well-endowed loins. There were the _manly_ high-fashion models, with just the right amount of scruff and the perfect, masculine features to go opposite a beautiful female. They were often used as props to sell a sort of sexual lifestyle.

Lastly, there were the slim, slightly-effeminate male models. They were the breed of model with the interesting faces, with perhaps exaggerated features or interesting proportions. They weren’t always what fashion houses were looking for, but there was a definite niche market for them, and Niall was a bit weak for it.

Harry Styles fit in to the last category of tall, awkwardly beautiful male models. He had skinny legs, a trim waist, and a set of wide shoulders. He was a bit pigeon-toed, and slightly knock-kneed. His eyes were a striking green, and framing his face were wispy, chocolate brown curls. Sometimes they got slicked back, sometimes they were left wild and free but they were always _there_ , and had become a signature of his.

Styles had been selected as Burberry’s muse for their new fall line of men’s trenches.

As soon as he walked on to the shoot, Niall was taken.

 

There seemed to be a science behind photo shoots that Niall didn’t quite grasp. It flowed seamlessly, in one outfit, then in to another. Hair one way, then a different way. He did his job efficiently, blending in to the background all while keeping one eye on the beautiful creature in the spotlight.

Throughout the day Harry remained quiet and cooperative, giving the camera his looks and positioning his body in ways that told Niall he was completely aware of himself and his angles. He had mastered his craft.

Niall even managed to take some creepy, stealthy cellphone pictures of him, because he doubted he’d ever be in the same room as him again.

When the day was finished the art director reviewed Niall’s footage for him.

“It’s really great stuff,” he said simply.

Niall felt a flutter in his chest. “Yeah?”

The man nodded, scratching at his slightly unkempt beard. “Yeah, though unfortunately over ninety percent of it is completely unusable.”

Niall’s heart fell. “What? Why?”

The man stood up from his folding chair, placing the camera back in Niall’s hands. He wore a slight grin. “Because you’re filming an exposé on the production of a look-book, not a documentary on Harry Styles.”

 

When Niall had put all of his equipment back in it’s rightful closet, he made a b-line for the staff room to fetch his things before he made the long bus ride back to his flat. Though, as he burst through the door, he was startled to find the object of his current fascination seated at the lunch table, a bored expression on his face as he swiped away on his phone. He looked terribly out of place, with his perfectly coiffed hair and fifteen hundred dollar coat suffering under the bright fluorescent lights of a room that smelled like warmed over pasta.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Niall blurted. He then felt instantly stupid, apologizing for entering a room that he was allowed in to.

Luckily Harry only glanced up at him briefly before going back to his phone.

Niall was bordering on hyperventilating as he dumped his things on the table and hurried to grab his coat on the rack against the wall.

“So you’re building a personal collection of photos of me?” A deep voice asked from behind him.

Niall froze. “Pardon?” He turned around to see Harry looking at him, Niall’s own phone in his hand. “Wha- What are you doing? That’s my phone!” He crossed the room and halted a few feet from the model, unsure what the rules were when approaching someone so untouchable.

“It’s illegal, you know, to take photos of product before it’s released,” his husky voice chided. The photo on the screen was one Niall had snuck halfway through the day when Harry was sipping on a water bottle. “You could be fired.”

The blond nodded frantically, itching to have his phone back. “I-I know, I wasn’t going to leak them or sell them… I just wanted them for me-”

“For your wank bank, then?” Harry quirked his lip. “Taking photos of me for when you’re _alone_?” His voice dropped even further and Niall said ‘fuck it all’ and finally snatched his phone back.

“What gives you the right to go through my things?” He snapped, tucking the device safely into his pocket.

Harry shrugged, expression indifferent. “Because I’m famous, I suppose.”

“Well nice to meet you, _Famous_ , I’m Niall. And I don’t appreciate the violation of privacy.”

The moment of silence that followed was heated. They stared at each other, Niall unwilling to give up. He’d never met a celebrity before, but somehow the cocky young man in front of him was exactly what he had expected.

Harry stood up from his chair, stretching out to his full height, which was inches above Niall’s. He was a bit in to his personal space, but Niall hardly minded as he held his breath, unsure of what he was waiting for. Harry finally spoke. “So, did you want to go out tonight or something?”

Without really thinking it through, the blond nodded. “Yes.”

 

As it turned out, ‘going out’ meant eating lukewarm pizza on the hood of Harry’s Porsche in the deserted underground parking lot of his condo. It was slightly unconventional, considering Niall had been expecting some lavish restaurant and thousand dollar champagne. The Porsche was nice, though.

The entire night was a bit awkward, and the conversation was stunted, but the next morning there was a text message from _him_ on Niall’s phone and he knew then that he was in trouble.

 

As Niall spent more and more time with Harry, he began to see his layers peeling away. He discovered his obnoxious laugh, and the resulting dimples from his wide grin. He caught on to his cynical sense of humour, and tried really hard to laugh at his terrible jokes. He found out that Harry didn’t just look amazing in designer clothes, but also in just about anything he put on, be it a white tee or a sloppy jumper. He was beautiful.

Niall also noticed that they always stayed inside whenever they were together.

“You’d get eaten alive if I took you out,” Harry replied, his legs in Niall’s lap as they sat on the couch in his crappy apartment. That was another thing: Harry preferred Niall’s slightly dire living situation to his own more classy one.

“I’m pretty sure I can handle it,” Niall snorted.

Harry looked at him for a long moment, green eyes searching. Niall often got caught under that gaze. “No, not yet anyways. You’re not some dirty little secret, though. No, you’re just… can I call you _mine_?”

Niall’s face got hot. “I guess so.”

“Yeah, you’re mine.”

 

They fucked on their official third date which was also the night before Harry was set to fly to America for work. It was overwhelming and mind-blowing and Niall had briefly thought that if he died the next day, he’d die a happy man. Niall also thought that perhaps that was his farewell gift, that Harry would step back in to the limelight and instantly wonder what the hell he was even doing with some Irish photographer. The blond had come to terms with it, and didn’t let it get to him too badly. He’d had fun, and it was something to tell people down the road: the crazy time he’d had with a real model.

However, as soon as Harry landed back in London (and Niall _wasn’t_ checking tabloids to find out when he did) he showed up at Niall’s door and they spent the entire weekend holed up in his flat re-acquainting themselves. Over and over again.

It didn’t make any sense, and he was scared and nervous and falling hard but it didn’t matter as soon as Harry kissed him.

“I keep waiting for when this all ends,” Niall mumbled in to curly brown hair as they laid spread out and sated on his bed later. The sun was setting and the room was yellow and orange and it did wonders on Harry’s skin.

The brunette in question pulled away from him, then, sitting up and slinging a long leg over him and perching atop his hips. His fingers strayed in to the trail of hair below Niall’s navel, tickling him.

“Are you going to write about me in your diary, then?” He asked, voice teasing. “Going to list all of the dirty details about the steamy whirlwind romance you had with a model and then sell it in exchange for your retirement package?”

And even though he knew Harry was joking, Niall couldn’t help a serious answer. “I could never do that to you.”

Harry looked down at him, nodding slowly. “I know.”

 

Dating Harry wasn’t always easy. It was less about his schedule and rumours – Niall could handle that – and more about Harry’s own self worth. He had a streak of self-deprecation in him that reared it’s ugly head once in a while, resulting in him moping for days at a time.

The world of modelling was so much darker than Niall had ever thought possible. Society always strived to be the best and look the best… though when you already _were_ all of those things, where did you turn then?

To alcohol, apparently.

“I’m the worst kind of whore there is,” Harry drawled, bottle of whiskey in hand. He was seated in Niall’s empty bathtub, where he’d been for roughly two hours. “I get paid thousands for a _look._ People don’t get to see me act, don’t hear me sing or watch me play sports. No… I’m set for life just by skipping meals and standing still. God forbid I actually score a runway show and have to _walk_ for my paycheck.”

Niall was quiet as he sat on the edge of the tub, unsure of how to follow up a statement such as that. He hadn’t mastered the art of dealing with Harry when he was at his worst yet.

Models were always high on pedestals for him. He’d spent the majority of his college career pouring over magazines and images of high fashion superstars, studying lighting and angles but also memorizing the peaks and plains of their beautiful faces. He’d never imagined how tainted that world could be, when it looked so shiny from the outside.

“Well, on the bright side -” He cleared his throat. “At least you don’t have to do nude shoots.”

Harry blinked, and then snorted with laughter, which eventually dissolved in to sobs and he cried himself in to a drunken sleep in Niall’s tub.

The next morning, he took Niall out to breakfast for all of the world to see.

 

“Take my picture.”

Niall looked up from where he was answering work emails on his laptop. Harry stood before him, dressed only in a white t-shirt and black Armani boxer-briefs. It was mid morning on a Sunday, and it was also their three-month anniversary (but who was counting, really).

“What for?” Niall asked, closing his computer. “You get your picture taken all the time. I have every single magazine you’ve ever been in. You even laughed at me for it.”

Harry shook his head, retrieving Niall’s camera from the bookshelf and placing it in his hands. “I don’t care about how other people choose to see me. I want to see what _you_ see.”

Niall wouldn’t – couldn’t – refuse the offer, so they spent the majority of the afternoon snapping photos around Niall’s flat. Harry remained partially dressed, and allowed himself the freedom to laugh and joke and pull funny faces. It was an entirely different Harry from the one Niall had seen at Burberry three months prior. The brunette had done over a hundred different campaigns since stepping in to the industry, and yet Niall had never witnessed what he captured that day in his flat. He liked to think that it was _his_ Harry. It was the Harry he had fallen in love with.

And maybe, as the sun set over London and Harry was pinned beneath him against sweaty sheets, Niall took a picture of that as well; because that was _definitely_ his Harry.

 

The months flew by, and Niall kept waiting for the day that the high he was on would end. He waited for Harry to lose interest, to find someone far better than he was. However, he never did. The papers had them breaking up every week, and cheating on each other continuously with every other person they were photographed with, though it was all untrue. Niall attended Harry’s fancy parties with him, and Harry frequented the pub with all of Niall’s uni mates.

It was hard sometimes, because Harry’s job was a lot more demanding than Niall’s. He would fly off to other countries for weeks at a time and Niall would barely avoid seeing the tabloids documenting Harry’s seemingly rock star lifestyle whenever he’d go out to clubs or go to lunch with another famous person. But only Niall knew of the phone call at the end of the day where Harry would tell him all about the funny food he ate or about how the towels in his hotel room were folded in to swans or some other type of flying vertebrate.

In response, Niall would tell him how much he missed him.

And no matter how far away from him Harry got, he always came back.


End file.
